


Does porn need a title?

by SunflowerSupreme



Series: Punishment & BSDM Related [2]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Bondage, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Light BDSM, M/M, Rough Sex, Spanking, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-01-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:15:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22383166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunflowerSupreme/pseuds/SunflowerSupreme
Summary: I felt bad about all the angst I’ve been feeding you guys, so I wrote some shameless porn to make up for it.There’s also snuggles.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Punishment & BSDM Related [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1624297
Comments: 32
Kudos: 547





	Does porn need a title?

“You slut,” Geralt teased, nipping the tip of Dandelion’s ear. He didn’t fail to notice the smell of arousal that grew stronger at the insult.

The poet whimpered, trying weakly to pull his head away from Geralt. But he didn’t really seem to be trying, his eyes glinting with as much desire as the Witcher’s.

“I’m growing tired of rescuing you from your dalliances, you know,” he said, pressing kisses up Dandelion’s neck, stopping at the junction of his shoulder and nipping softly. “Perhaps next time I’ll leave you,” he whispered, causing the bard to whine and squirm. “Would you like that? What was it the man today intended to do to you? Flog you in the city square?” Geralt ran his tongue over his throat, then nipped him again, biting down until he’d left a red mark. “Do you scream as prettily as you sing?”

Again, Dandelion whimpered and struggled slightly, although it was clear, mostly due to the erection pressing into Geralt’s hip, that he wasn’t _truly_ interested in escaping. After all, he knew as well as Geralt that the Witcher would never carry through on such threats.

“Nothing to say?” the Witcher asked with amusement, tapping his fingers against Dandelion’s gagged lips. The troubadour was entirely nude, his wrists bound to the headboard, and a handkerchief knotted through his mouth. Geralt, fully clothed, straddled his back, running his hands through sweat-soaked blonde curls.

“Now,” he said, running a hand through the dark curls on Dandelion’s chest. “Shall I take you sweetly, as your dear lover did, or leave you unable to walk tomorrow?” The bard only moaned, his eyes rolling back in his skull

It’s a familiar game, one they’d played countless times. Dandelion needs to be punished, needs to be reassured of Geralt’s affections, and sometimes the Witcher enjoys getting a bit of playful revenge for all the trouble his friend causes him.

They stumbled upon it quite by accident, when he’d noticed Dandelion smelled of arousal when he’d threatened to whip him, and after that it had become a ritual, played out in cramped hotel rooms, abandoned barns, or caves in the woods. It’s something that neither of them would trust anyone else to do.

Dandelion knew that the Witcher wouldn’t ever push him too far and that he’d rub away every pain in the morning, and Geralt knew that the poet wouldn’t ever tell anyone of the Witcher’s roughness, of how animalistic and inhuman he was when he bit and snarled.

He lifted himself off Dandelion’s lap, enjoying the look that the poet gave him, and sat between his legs, spreading him open. For someone who abhorred physical activity as much as Dandelion, he was surprisingly flexible, and Geralt pressed his legs apart until he saw a slight twinge on Dandelion’s face.

Using his knees to keep Dandelion spread, he rubbed his hand over the poet’s thighs, digging his nails into his soft flesh, pinching enough to leave bruises. Shifting higher, he ran a finger over the underside of Dandelion’s erection, then squeezed his balls, just enough to make him wince.

Stretching slightly, he untied Dandelion’s hands, then pushed his legs up, folding him in half, and carefully tying his ankles where his wrists had been. The position certainly couldn’t be that comfortable, since he was on his back, legs over his head and slightly spread, but Dandelion still reeked of arousal, with only a tiny undercurrent of pain.

Geralt slapped his exposed ass and he lurched, moaning around the gag.

“Quiet Dandelion, we have neighbors.” If they’d been alone in the wilderness, he’d have happily left him un-gagged, letting him scream and wail to his heart’s content. But hidden in an inn, they had to stay quiet.

The Witcher shifted, drug his nails over Dandelion’s pale skin, and struck him again. Another whine came from behind the gag, and Dandelion shifted, reaching for his own cock. Geralt caught his hands. “Oh, no you don’t,” he said. “Put your hands behind your head and leave them there, or I won’t touch your cock again.”

The poet whimpered, giving him a pleading look, but did as he was told, lacing his fingers behind his neck. Geralt pulled off his belt. He was about to sit it aside when he happened to get a whiff of Dandelion, who suddenly reeked even more of arousal than before.

He slipped off the bed and stood, which drew a sniffle from Dandelion, but he didn’t move away, instead holding his belt loosely, then cracked it over the poet’s exposed ass.

Dandelion cried as he was thrashed, but Geralt was gentle, barely tapping with him the belt, and the smell of arousal never faded. After a few strikes he grew bored, and once again sunk into the bed, stretching out on his stomach so he could lick Dandelion’s thighs.

Again he was disappointed that he couldn’t fully enough the noises the bard was making, certain he would be wailing and begging if he’d been able. Geralt finally gave him what he wanted, pressing one oil-slicked finger inside Dandelion, and the poet whimpered, straining at his bonds.

“Easy,” Geralt murmured as he slipped in another finger. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

Dandelion whined again, giving Geralt a look that plainly said, _‘I will hurt myself if I want to.’_

Geralt snorted and landed a swat on his thigh. Dandelion was easy to stretch open, the poet was an expert at relaxing his muscles, and soon Geralt felt confident that he could enter him with only minor discomfort.

If there was any discomfort when the Witcher’s cock entered him, his face didn’t give it away. Dandelion threw his head back, slamming it into the headboard. Geralt winced and reached up, gently pulling Dandelion’s head forward as he slid balls deep into the poet. “Careful, Dandelion,” he scolded, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.

Dandelion only whimpered in reply.

Geralt moved slowly, each long thrust bringing a whine to the bard’s throat, rubbing his nails over the abused flesh of his thighs, digging his fingers in where it would hurt most.

But Dandelion only bucked into him, cornflower blue eyes pleading for _more, more, more_ , and Geralt was happy to give it to him, finally bringing a hand down to rub over the bard’s weeping cock, which in turn made him whimper and tighten around Geralt.

Dandelion finished first, but Geralt didn’t stop thrusting into him, even knowing how sensitive and sore he must feel. The bard didn’t seem to protest either, falling back into boneless bliss as he waited for Geralt to finish.

When he came he buried himself as deep as he could in Dandelion, leaning forward to press his forehead against the poet’s as he pumped him full.

Once he’d recovered, he untied Dandelion’s legs, letting the poet lower his legs and stretch. There were tears on his cheeks as Geralt removed the gag, and he pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Easy,” he murmured.

“You’re a brute,” moaned the poet, as Geralt kneaded his thighs. “None of my other lovers have ever treated me this way, you know,” he said with a sniffle. 

“Don’t act as though you don’t enjoy it,” teased Geralt. He wiped them both off with a cloth, then wrapped his arms around Dandelion, pulling him to his chest and tucking his head under his chin.

The poet sniffled and nuzzled into him, whimpering until Geralt rubbed his back. “I won’t get caught next time,” he promised.

“You’d better not,” said Geralt. “Or I’ll put a cowbell on you.”

“Geralt!”

“Or a chastity belt.”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

He only laughed, burying his nose in Dandelion’s soft curls. “I’m certainly considering it,” he said. “Then you wouldn’t be able to cause me any more trouble.”

“The only way to keep me out of trouble would be to lock me in a tower.”

“Believe me, poet,” Geralt snorted. “I’ve considered it.”

“Fuck you, Geralt.”

“I prefer fucking you.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Dandelion locked in a tower is suddenly an AU I want to write. 
> 
> It could even play into my Bastard!Dandelion headcanon where his father locked him away out of shame and Geralt stumbles across him (maybe people have heard singing coming from the woods and think it's a monster so they hire Geralt to kill it, but instead he finds an abused half Siren/half-human who ends up becoming his best friend.)


End file.
